The next dragon ball belonged to Yamcha, who had called a few days ago to invite them to meet at his old hideout in the desert. The mainland was a day's sail from the island and it was almost another day's drive from the beach to the desert. By the time they got close Marron was so tired of sitting she had taken to standing on her seat, hanging on to the roller bars of the jeep they had chosen for desert travel. Yamcha was waiting for them outside, leaning against his hover car parked next to a rocky outcropping. Marron jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped, running to her older uncle, arms outstretched.

"Hey!" he called, picking her up and spinning her around. "How's my little chestnut? Not so little anymore, though. You've gotten so big since I last saw you!"

"I grew six inches in six months!" Marron announced proudly. Yamcha whistled.

"Wait a minute," he said, peering at her. "Are you taller than your dad?"

"Almost!" she said, bouncing on her toes. "Just three more inches until I'm the same height!"

Yamcha smiled, and then spotted Seventeen and nodded. "Hey, there."

Seventeen nodded back wordlessly.

"Which dragon ball is it?" Marron asked him. "I didn't peek."

"Come see for yourself." Yamcha turned and called out, "Puar! Open 'er up!"

The entrance to his secret hideout, which Marron had never visited, opened up, revealing a spacious garage hidden inside the giant rock formation.

"Wow," she breathed, stepping inside. Vaguely she heard the sounds of Seventeen capsulizing their car and stepping in after her, but her mind was taken up by gathering in every detail she could about her first secret bandit hideout ever. "This is so cool, Uncle Yamcha!"

"Wait'll you see the rest of the place," he boasted, gesturing towards an honest-to-goodness fire pole leading down to the lower level. Marron squealed and slid down, landing ungracefully at the bottom.

"Marron!" a high pitched voice squeaked in greeting. The owner of the voice floated into the room, waving and smiling.

"Hi, Puar!" Marron walked forward, head swiveling back and forth. She heard her uncles land behind her, and she turned around, face alight. "Is this where you live?" she asked Yamcha. He laughed.

"No, I live in the city. But sometimes I come out here for a night or two, just for old times sake." He walked over to an old chest and opened it, motioning Marron to come stand next to him. Inside the chest was the five star ball, and Marron picked it up, grinning her thanks up at Yamcha.

"What're you gonna wish for?" he asked, as Seventeen bet Puar fifty zeni he couldn't make an exact copy of him.

"I'm not really sure," Marron said, turning the ball over in her fingers. They ignored the poof as Puar transformed. Seventeen smugly pointed out the small black eyes that looked nothing like his narrow blue ones. Puar grumbled and changed his eyes. "I might not actually wish for anything. I wouldn't want to have used up a wish just in case something happens."

("Mmm, better," Seventeen admitted. "What? What else is wrong?" Puar demanded.)

"That's very responsible of you," Yamcha praised. "You'll never believe how I got this, by the way. I was in the middle of a baseball game, playing left field, and I was holding my glove up ready to catch the winning out, and instead of a baseball— thunk— there lands a dragon ball right in my glove. They never did find the baseball."

("My hair is more silky than that.")

Marron regarded her uncle with an incredulous stare. The last time she'd seen him, over a year ago and six inches shorter, she likely would have believed him without question. She was old enough now to start being skeptical of ridiculous stories.

"Are you sure?" she said suspiciously. "That sounds made up to me."

("And I would never wear socks that color.")

"Of course I'm sure!" Yamcha said, sounding hurt but also insincere about it, so Marron was pretty sure he had been making it up, and was silently proud of herself for noticing.

"How's this?" Puar asked, and Seventeen crowed.

"That's more like it. Hey! See if you can tell us apart."

Marron and Yamcha turned to see two identical Android Seventeens standing next to them.

"You're Seventeen," Marron said swiftly, pointing. "You're Puar," Yamcha said, pointing at the same one. They turned to each other, frowning.

"That's not right," they said at the same time. One of the dark haired androids shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out fifty zeni and handing it to the other one.

"Looks like you win," he said, and the one now holding the money poofed back into Puar. Yamcha looked shocked.

"I told you," Marron said, flipping one pigtail over her shoulder.

"Told you," said Puar, equally smugly.

Both Yamcha and Seventeen laughed.

Marron braided her wet hair into two pigtails and pulled on the jumpsuit Yamcha was letting her borrow while her clothes were in the laundry. She had to roll the sleeves and legs up five or six times, but it smelled like Yamcha and the desert, and it was a comforting smell. She grabbed the capsule marked G-55 and slipped on her sneakers.

To her surprise the desert was cold when she stepped outside. The stars were barely peeking out along the darkening horizon, but it was already at least twenty degrees cooler than it had been mere hours before. She shivered and unrolled her sleeves one roll. Seventeen and Yamcha were still inside the old hideout, and she crept quietly away, wanting to surprise them.

Though she didn't know the desert very well, common sense told her that what she was looking for would most likely be found around the rocky upshoots she could see in the distance. She also knew that desert life preferred the night, so she popped the capsule and plucked the rifle out of thin air, and began walking towards them.

Unknown to her, Puar floated silently behind her, curious and a bit unnerved at the sight of a little girl wielding a large rifle with such ease. He followed her for nearly fifteen minutes, and then ducked behind a stone pillar when she froze and brought the butt of the rifle up to her shoulder, sighting along the barrel at something Puar couldn't see. She took a step, and then another, and then froze again, holding her breath. Puar held his breath as well, and then couldn't help the squeak of surprise when the air was split by the sound of a rifle crack.

Marron spun around, eyes roaming wildly in Puar's direction, but he stayed out of sight. After satisfying herself that there was no one there, Marron turned back to where she'd shot and walked forward, holding the rifle at her side. Puar stayed where he was, and dimly saw her bend down and pick up something off the ground. Her sneakers crunched on the gravel as she walked back to the hideout, and Puar watched, disconcerted, as her blond pigtails bounced against her shoulders in time to the flapping of the ears of the dead rabbit she carried in one hand.

After walking back to the base for about ten minutes Marron heard a whooshing sound and then two small thuds as Yamcha and Seventeen landed hard on the ground in front of her. It sounded like they had been flying fast, and both of them looked her over wildly.

"Hi," she said shyly, suddenly aware that she'd done something wrong.

"Where were you?" Seventeen all but shouted. She'd never heard him sound so angry. "We've been out looking for you for half an hour. What the hell, bug?"

She looked off to the side and hefted the rabbit in apology and explanation.

"I was just hunting," she mumbled. "I didn't think I'd be gone so long."

"Hunting?!" Seventeen's voice broke as it reached a pitch he was unaccustomed to using. "What the hell made you think that was okay? Is that my rifle?" he demanded, noticing it for the first time. He snatched it out of her grasp. "You fucking stole my rifle and went off on your own hunting?"

"I didn't steal it!" Marron yelled, shame and anger welling up inside her. Her uncle looked almost frightening for the first time she could remember. She was aware that both he and his sister easily made other people nervous, especially when they were angry, but she'd never been afraid of either one of them in her entire life. "I was going to bring it back."

"Did I say you could take it?" Seventeen retorted, gesturing with the gun in question with sharp, quick movements. "No, I didn't. You go out, alone, at night, with a gun you don't have permission to use, and you want to argue semantics. Unbelievable."

Marron was appalled to feel big, hot tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Seventeen saw them, and immediately paled.

"Shit, I'm sorry bug," he whispered, running a hand through his hair. He turned away and caught sight of Yamcha, standing awkwardly a few feet away with discomfort written all over his face. "Take her home, I need to blow off some steam," he muttered, and stalked away into the desert, footsteps sounding angrily in the otherwise quiet darkness.

Yamcha held out a hand and Marron took it, sniffling, and buried her face in his jacket as he flew her back to the hideout, feeling absolutely miserable.